Brothers in Posterity
by Obop
Summary: Brady and Owain shared a childhood, shared a tragedy, and share a war. After so long as friends Owain is ready to invite Brady into the annals of time as his brother in arms and his support S. Some minor spoilers implied. Intended to flesh out their characters in a way the game could not.
1. Chapter 1

So Ylisseans were all over the place. They were diligence incarnate if you met Frederick, they were mischievous gluttons if you bumped into Gaius, but run into Owain – nah, I'm sure Owain would run into you first, probably waxing poetic, with body language promising the most titillating of adventures. And what were you supposed to do when he's all over the place, like Naga herself had given him an energy drop to keep him going? Brady wondered a while at the mania that had infested itself within baby Owain's brain. His parents weren't at all like that. Lissa, albeit a bit explosive at times and tomboyish at others, was a good old fashioned princess. His father was a thief, so maybe it was that kind of carefree, me-first kind of lifestyle that had enchanted him to be so theatrical.

His hair bobbed into view first; striking, from the first time Brady ever saw it. Spikes all over the place, very folklore, very hero, very Brady if he was willing to admit to digging it. Sure it was probably the first time he'd ever seen a guy look like that on purpose so it had the novelty effect but it was his attitude about it that kept his interest. Owain wasn't interested in looking like anyone else, Owain wanted his fur lined coat to be trademarked under "Owain Dark, master swordsman, master hero, master blaster." Alright, Brady never listened intently enough to catch all of it, but there was more to focus on when Owain comes into your tent at night to steal you from violin practice. There was a whole world of risen out there to slay, and even when there was nothing but trees and the ashes of old campfires, you could bet he'd invent an army to fight and Brady would even sometimes fight it. Whatever pretense he used to use to justify shadowboxing back to back with his pal had grown stale, he might even admit he liked playing pretend sometimes.

What Owain thought of Brady was hidden under gooey double-entendre, wrapped in a crunchy tone of sarcasm and sealed behind a paper wrapping of vague phrases and the changing of topics. Owain just knew he liked candy, he liked heroism and he liked them better shared with his opposite. If Morgan was his rival then Brady was his dark side, like Bizarro Owain or something. Even his thesaurus couldn't quite put its finger down on what it was Brady represented. He was this pampered violinist who could press a flower and heal the sick but when he put down his heal staff and opened his mouth it sure as hell wasn't classical music anymore. His voice was like staccato in the melody, his mannerisms like he had grown up in the grungiest Plegian underbelly and that scar put it all together to make one seriously rough package. Owain always wanted to grab him when he slept and speak right to his sub-conscious, something like "make up your mind" or "which one is the real Brady?" but after spending a childhood in and out of his life, Owain knew better than to point it out.

Owain came to collect Brady like he did when they were kids, before the church crap he couldn't but imagine Brady being a part of, and yet here he was in those robes like some dark messiah. It just meant Owain had to be an even brighter star, a paragon of illustrious majesty that stood for all that was benevolent and just. His sheen would obscure Brady's dark side and he too would shine. Owain makes a small clicking sound, air pushing past his gums and popping in his cheeks and Brady knows he's needed. Desperately needed – or at least that if he doesn't come now Owain will just march in and start saying all that crap again about staying on point that guilts Brady into doing what he wants.

Brady sets down his violin with a sigh, hiding it back in its case the way ma' would have wanted, takes a handful of candy he picked up at the store for Owain and stuffs it into the pocket of his robes before making his way to the tent flap. Owain urgently signals again, this time sparing no expense, "The time is nigh for us to depart, young ward." Brady pushes past him and gives him a sour glance, "Ya gotta' cut that young ward crap, Owain. I'm older than ya', firsta all and second I ain't your sidekick. I gotta' sword too, huh?"

Owain lifts his hand to his chin to consider his retort but decides there's just no time for nonsense tonight. Tonight is special, even if Brady doesn't know the tumultuous task they must conquer. Tonight is the night Owain says that thing. It's easier to fight six manaketes in defensive formation then to say what he has to, but nothing has scared him yet and how can he be the hero king of battle if he's scared of words? No, no time for this. He takes hold of Brady's rough forearm and pulls him out of camp, eyes peeled for any possible onlookers.

They know how to keep quiet, how to silently maneuver through camp and out into the woods or into town. Sometimes with Inigo, though Owain likes those nights a little less to be honest and gods forbid it's when Gerome is feeling a little lonely, then its like the whole plan is turned upside down. Nah, tonight is going to be a story passed down through the ages, a historical reference point. When taught to children teachers will say, "And this was the night the greatest hero of all time, Owain Dark said those things to Sir Brady of the Deepest Sorrows, and it was crazy brave of him and Brady returned a very strong, but a little less strong than Owain of course, 'I totally feels tha same about alla you said.'" Owain had tonight down pat, he'd only practiced it in his own tent fifteen or so times today, but it was special stuff, it would have been wrong to blunder into it organically, it needed to be locked up tight, second nature, known by rote, muscle memory; muscle memory; muscle memory; muscle memory.

Brady clung tight to the bouncing sweets in his breast pocket as he let Owain lead him away. This time seemed serious. Owain was clammin up, and usually he's all yappy and irritatin' but tonight he's acting strange. It's enough to put a guy on edge. He kinda' wanted Yarne here, he'd know what to say. He always knew what to say, prolly somethin' to do with animal senses being better than a human's. He'd find Gerome tomorrow, talk it all out. Gerome was the only one he spoke to about Owain, only one he could trust with that kind of sensitive info. Gerome wouldn't chat, heck Gerome couldn't chat much even if he got it in hisself to blab, he just ain't that way.

They made their way past Noire's tent like Owain promised he would. They had corroborated this before hand, that he would stroll by and they would share a small glance as she peeked covertly out of a small rip in her tent. It was the little boost he needed, she was his talisman tonight. He made sure to nonchalantly turn his head over to her tent but she wasn't looking. Not that she knew really what was going on, and it all honesty she was probably with Yarne per usual, but he had put some stock into that little affirmation. He knew he couldn't say what he really planned on, but Noire wasn't stupid. Meek, and sometimes threatening, but never stupid. He had to resign himself to a bit of disappointment and file it away to deal with later. He couldn't let that stain his thoughts, it was time to be a hero. A little self sacrifice. A little nick to the ego to fortify his humble, wise mind. A glance back said Brady was a little anxious but he was following close. Good, all according to plan.

They spilled out into the woods and Owain let Brady's arm fall away. Brady probably coulda' taken it from him earlier but he really didn't want to. The world was a little colder when no one was getting grabby on ya all the time. Owain walked slowly at his side, ever vigilant for danger but still cool as a cucumber. Brady unearthed a chocolate from his sleeve and handed it over without looking all the way. Owain took it with a nod and popped it in his mouth the way Gaius always did: first it was placed in a flat palm, then you hit the forearm and it goes into the air then you catch it in your mouth like you was never really paying attention despite all of that effort. Effort was Owain. Wasted effort. Wasted energy, but that's what made him so cool. Owain was just boss like that. Larger than life. It made Brady feel weird to be the bigger guy yet he always felt a bit shaken because how would he know what to say? Owain had books full of cool words and pictures and stuff, Brady couldn't come up with that kind of boss stuff. He just wasn't like that.

Brady of the Moistened Eyes, Brady of the Everlasting Woe, Brady of the Sword and Staff. Man that last one seemed pretty brave, Owain placed it into that imaginative place in his mind to be reviewed later. He had written down so many names for Brady over the years, really there was nothing left but transformations of previous ones. Brady snapped his attention back with a groan as he suckled on a hard candy, probably biting his tongue or something. His pained face looked a little worse because of the large scar across his eye. Honestly that scar had made Owain a bit jealous. It told people, "Hey, I'm a bad kind of guy. Don't cross me." He didn't have anything like that to be so bold, he just had to play it up and hope people were impressed or intimidated. Sometimes a bit of both was good.

Usually they didn't go anywhere in particular, they would just walk until Brady said he was tired of it then they'd sit for a while, sometimes in silence, and stare out at the world for a while until one of them got up and led the way back. The last time they went out Brady stopped next to a stump and got onto the subject of how it was a sad reminder of what tree had been there, growing vibrantly. Owain had to explain for 20 minutes or so that it was okay, there were more trees, that it was probably somewhere special. He couldn't fault the guy, though. Wasn't it good to appreciate the little things like that? A brief respite from staring too long at the fires of war, eyes bleary from the lingering smoke. Brady had a natural talent for giving everything its due, Owain was jealous of that also. He tried to be more like him, tried to suck his chocolate the same way he saw Brady suck his candy, but it just melted away. The taste lingered for a while, the jealousy interminable.

Brady's nerves finally were wearing thin from all of the strange cues he was getting from Owain tonight and he couldn't hold out longer. "So are we gonna' sit and flap our lips or just walk until I've got blisters like last time?" Owain shook his head slowly, signaling for another candy. "Little further," he mumbled, sweat slipping lightly between his shoulders. Muscle memory, he told himself. Just a little further, he repeated inwardly. Brady started to stride ahead of him and from behind you couldn't have known that other, streetwise side of Brady. You'd only make out a holy man, no scariness. Owain would never use that word again, not after the crying fits he put Brady into as a kid or the shame he saw him feel whenever somebody at camp would joke about it. Made him mad. Made him want to call someone out, defend his friends honor, maybe explain that he wasn't scary, they just weren't very brave. Brady, tough and wimpy. A man of duality, capricious in nature.

"Seriously, we getting' there soon? Pa's gonna' kill us if he finds out we're out here before I learned something about this new sword gig."

"Don't be such a Cry-Brady, the great Owain would never sneak you out if there was a chance of Robin catching us."

"I told you to stop callin' me that!" Brady's pouting was part of that duality, the part that Owain thought about before sleep.

"Look, we're here, so calm down."

Where they were was nowhere again, at least not to anyone looking from the outside in. To Owain, it was the right spot. There was enough moonlight pulling between the trees to make for a decent base and enough coverage around to make for a safe hideout. This was duality, this was Brady's place. Now it was Owain's time. He'd put in the effort to get this far – all of the nights they spent talking about life and what it could hold, about Grima and how they were both scared and excited for the march, about girls and men alike, a tongue in cheek way of getting something to think about later when they were alone in their own tents with hormones boiling under their skin. He'd gone so far but he needed to go a little further, to be a man of his word, a man of history. He took a seat on the grass and laid back with his legs stretched out ahead of him and began to prepare his speech.

Brady knelt down onto the balls of his feet, laying out the candy on the grass in a neat row and separating them into two piles. There were things he liked specially so he would make sure to save them. Owain would eat anything, so it didn't matter what he gave him. He even ate the wasabi candies. That's toughness. If Inigo challenged him to a wasabi contest, Owain would eat a dozen without even a thought. He'd rather be sick than called a coward, and that was stupid but Brady really liked it. Sometimes he would buy those candies just to get Inigo to make a bet on them because he liked seeing Owain get all worked up in a frenzy trying to defend his reputation.

They sat quietly for a while listening to nothing but their own soft breathing. Brady slipped off his shoes and began to hold onto his feet, hunching over per usual. It was just what he always seemed to do, made him feel a little smaller, stand out a little bit less. Maybe he would come off less imposing, maybe Severa would stop telling him he was a weirdo if she saw him like this. He turned his head a bit and caught Owain through the corner of his eye glancing over from where he lay. The staring was covert on both ends but transparent enough to warrant a small chuckle. Owain was only ever relaxed like this when they stole out and no one was around to impress. Around Brady, he was a little more pensive it seemed, but not like this. "What-a-ya thinkin' about?"

There it was. Owain's call to service. Now it was time, time to step up to the front lines, to bandy his thoughts about with all of his confidence. He was cut off mid rehearsal and as he sat up onto his arms he took a deep breath, drawing the interest of his companion completely this time. "Brady, I'm going to be a hero, a serious hero. One that everyone remembers – like Marth." "Yeah, yeah, I heard it all," Brady wanted to say but the look on Owain's face was disarming. Owain could feel the sweat trickled down his chest and onto his coat. This was it, final round, everything depended on him now. It was just a bit more, a little further to go; it was time to let that rehearsal bare fruit. His mouth began, all muscle memory like he'd hoped, the words trivial but their tone serious, "Marth had his army, and I need one of my own. I want you to be part of it, part of the justice cabal. We can think of a name for you and your new sword."

They sat in silence for a little, Brady's cool feet clapping to the ground lightly. Owain glanced down at his sword for a while. Not very heroic, not very streetwise and a hell of a lot more awkward then it should have been. Those weren't the words, what in the gods' names were those words? Warm, large fingers threaded their way between his where they rested and bare feet came up along side his boots. "Gotcha'." And there they were, duality, clothed and unclothed, something hidden becoming clear to see. This was going to be muscle memory now, rough hands the newest edition to their before bed thoughts. Feet crossed over each other saying things they couldn't, at least not now. Not before Owain wrote out what he wanted to say, before Brady could practice his violin a bit and get his thoughts in order.

Brady wondered for a moment what Morgan would say when he told her he had a boyfriend – if that's what they were. Leave it to Owain to obscure the meaning with theatrics. Such a waste of time, of energy to not just say what he meant. Brady would ask but it was too hard to get the words. "I thought you would have cried," he heard a small voice mumble. This was worth the extra work he had to put in to buy all that candy, Brady thought. He wondered absentmindedly how far the bead of sweat that was coursing its way down Owain's chest was destined to go. Just for a moment he felt a bit sad, but he couldn't tell if it was for that doomed drop or if it was because he had to wait to find out.


	2. Death of a Hero

Henry's crows could be overheard at any time during a skirmish, chumbling holes in anything they could get within their ravenous claws. Their krees penetrated down to the core and in weaker men could spell moments of true fear. Not the fear of death, ever present in this time, but the fear of pain; a pure, hateful pain. Dark plumage scattered through the wind with his every flourish as his pets danced along the path his dark aether tore through the air. This wasn't the place for Owain, who was always nervous on the inside during a fight. Not that he was green or anything like that, but he just wasn't a bird person. The birds harried him, though truly they were scattering around him, he flailed his arms around and shouted out to scare them away. There was already enough stress on the battlefield keeping yourself above room temperature, was it really necessary that Henry the Sadist confuse and torture friend and foe alike for the cheap thrill? He held Missiletainn close to him, scanning the field for where he was needed next and found a lone soldier in the midst of the sands halfheartedly clutching a dinged up iron sword; armor that clung too tightly to his body because he was too big for the available hand me downs from Donnel who no longer needed them. Brady stood face to face with a mindless corpse that was swinging a broken ax wildly through the air, lashing out at any stimuli. Brady with a sword was, well, in need of a hero. Not just any hero, a man of true vision and enterprise. Owain told himself to ignore the birds circling overhead and to get back into character, advice Brady would scold him with later when he saw how shaken Owain had become. Scared like this he wasn't good to anyone, and what would happen if he died here and failed to protect his parents from the true darkness that was an arms length away? He needed Owain Dark, now.

Brady needed Brady Dark, now. He clutched the haft of the sword with two hands, the way he was explicitly instructed not to by Frederick and held it vertically in front of him. He stood calmly in his own fear, accepting the inevitable before it was even realized. Usually he would be more willing to fight, throw himself out there with whatever he could grab because he had a passion for life, but for this new job – this mercenary crud he was given; the hell was this? He didn't know how to use a sword. Hell, his first hit against a dummy was just a few days back and the damn vibration was so bad he almost broke a toe when the sword fell out of his hands. He needed Brady Dark to come out. He'd seen Owain do it enough times, a process that seemed to be ingrained within him but he was sure required the utmost of effort: Owain stops, takes a breath, says something heroic, his hand comes in front of his face – more of that wasted effort that Brady couldn't understand – and then he's a new man. Brady needed that bravado now, he needed it for ma' and pa', for his sister Morgan. As the shell of a human drew near, breath a sick, stinking rot and eyes dark as night Brady prayed to his gods, those he knew intimately more well than most for even just one second of wasted effort, of false bravado.

Owain called over to him, words barely audible over the sounds of the birds and the whipping wind in the desert. "Brady, I come. Together we will rail against these malevolent marauders." Who he said that for he didn't quite know, but he had committed himself now. That's really what he needed, to be all in. How could be back down now when Brady is needing to be saved? He serpentined towards the beast and he could hear Brady shouting now, "Ya' stupid monster, get back! I've got this thing razor sharp and it's gonna' go right in ya' head, ya hear? So make like a tree and leaf!" Magic whirls through the air, a mortar of heat like fireworks in the night shades the area, blocking out the sun with a strange aura of yellow and orange and it pours itself over the monster, melting flesh from bone in a column of flames so hot Brady falls to the ground for a moment to praise Naga herself. Who it came from is a mystery to Owain who only saw it pitched into the air from behind him but there is no time for courtesies now. He clambers over to Brady and gives him a hand getting to his feet. "Thanks, I was almost crow chow. I don't know about this sword stuff, Owain. I don't think I can make it work."

They stand for just a moment together where the body of the enemy lay. Brady can sense Owain's reluctance because it's just like his. It tastes like stale air and settles in your lungs, whipping through your chest like the desert sands. Brady hates this feeling of cold fear and hates even more that Owain can feel it too. It doesn't matter how scared they are, though. Soon the enemy will be upon them again, the sounds of axes dragging through the sand are all around them. Brady calls to his resolve - "I'm the big one, right? I'm scary. I gotta' put on my big boy pants and get it together." For Owain.

Owain, who needs someone to tell him to fight, sees the light in Brady's eyes now as they stare past each other, pretending to be scanning the battlefield. He sees resolve in his friend and knows that he has to match it. He'd never let Brady see him as anything mortal; he's worked so hard to be a hero to the common man and now it was time for Owain to give the world another story to marvel at. They'll be all like, "And in the desert, under the unforgiving sun which raged against them it was only Owain Dark that could heft his blade against the zombie hoards. It was crazy brave of him and that one guy Brady – uh, Sir Brady, Nubile Swordsman practically swooned when Owain jumped in front of him and held off wave after wave of reanimated flesh. His swordsmanship was like poetry, his blade the quill and his word the fall of each enemy, forever to be recorded upon the fertile sands at his feet. Brady turned to his friend and begged, Please protect me 'fore I get myself banged up.' Owain triumphantly lifted Brady into his arms and carried him into the sunset." Yeah, yeah, do it for the history books. Glancing one more time at Brady told him he better get into the fray soon or Brady would sense his hesitation and truly all was lost.

Brady saw them coming from the stone ruins nearby. He called to his quiet place for strength, the time he spent alone with his violin performing for his staves. His favorite was Brightsmasher, a heavy mend staff that Owain had named for him one night when they were practicing by the stables and the staff had glowed a brilliant, golden hue. He never used the name out loud, it was too ridiculous to lift up his staff and call to it by name but it stood out among the many he had, a different breed. Those memories calmed him, took him from here where arrows were slung through the air carelessly but brought with them such finality. Took him to a place where he didn't have to stare into the faces of old soldiers that should have been let to rest not brought back to fight in the ultimate act of desecration. "Crap," he thought, tears beginning to sting the back of his eyes as he worked himself into a fervor of pity for the enemy. "I must have bats in the attic for thinkin' 'bout that."

Owain pulled Brady's gauntlet and spun his friend about face so they could stand back to back as the three monsters came at them. "Don't be scared, young ward. Stand strong! Remember what you have seen me do when danger loomed." Brady lifted his sword in front of his face like before and called back, "Ya' imbecile, dancing around yellin' Misses-tan isn't gonna do nothin' against these dastards." Owain would have instructed Brady about the proper way of pronouncing Missiletainn if not for the hand ax screaming the air towards his face. He pushed Brady to the side and leapt at the monster. He smoothly dodged his foes next swing and kept him at the point of his blade, marveling at his own incredible swordplay. What would Brady think of him now, looking so heroic? Noire would have joined in - "Tear his head from his body, rend his soul from his flesh, feast upon the spoils of war!" That kind of stuff gets you pumped, makes Owain want to punch a rock or something, kick through a mountain. Makes him feel like he could lift up a carriage and use it as a weapon. As he dodges blow after blow he mocks the monster in front of him with classic lines that are so Owain. He glances around for a second to see if anyone is listening and almost catches an ax to the oblique. He can feel Brady now, standing over him from his back, "You gonna' kill that thing or practice the waltz with it?" A glance over the shoulder reveals Brady splattered in slime and two piles of risen goo where foes once were. When did Brady get stronger than him? When had Owain Dark become the young ward? Unacceptable, it just meant he had to kill this guy with finesse out the wazoo. "Missiletainn, demon, shadow rend!" His sword comes crashing down into the air next the monster as it leaps away. But -

Brady won't wait any longer, not even to protect his you-know-what's ego. He pushes past Owain and does what he did to the last two monsters – swings his sword diagonally into the monsters location with his eyes closed for a moment. He practically can feel the monster's collar bone as it gives into his weight and when his sword hits the sand and he stumbles forward a bit he opens his eyes to see only the ethereal ash of the risen as it fades away from this plane. "Get outta here you undead chump! You tell Grima we're gonna' leave em black-an-blue."

Soon the battle winds to a close and Brady is called away to use his staff, though admittedly without practicing it lately he isn't quite as handy with it, he can still help out with some minor wounds. Owain on the other hand isn't needed for much more than post-battle looting so he skulks back to the main camp a few miles away. Yarne walks quietly up to his side, his beaststone sitting in the flat of his hand as he rubs one thumb over the top of it. They exchange a glance and fall into character. "Yo," Owain says, pretending he isn't really paying much attention. "Heya," a cheery response to cover up the anxiety of battle that haunts Yarne day in and day out, he receives. Yarne nudges his arm and Owain can feel the soft fur that runs over the Taguel's elbows, "You're just sneaking off, huh? Not going to cause a ruckus with the others?"

The air is cool now that the battle has died down, the wind taking a cue from Owain's mood to calm the hell down. "I didn't do much, don't deserve the victory party." His sword hand is hungry, unsatisfied with his lackluster effort to be the hero of the day and the irritation there is beginning to eat at him inside. "I really sucked today."

Yarne chuckles softly, stroking one long ear that had been bruised by Morgan earlier in the day, "You're alive aren't you? Seems like you did okay to me."

"Look, your prerogative is to stay alive and not to do anything that stands out but I'm going to be a legend someday and it isn't going to happen if I don't get a chance to prove myself. Maybe survival is enough for you, but for guys like me it's practically still an arrow in the chest." Yarne's change in pace shows that Owain had struck a nerve with that, as he intended but instantly regrets. The desert sun licks dryly against his skin and reminds him he better find shade soon or risk peeling and itching his way back from Valm. Yarne is taken aback but this wouldn't be the first time Owain said something stupid that Yarne didn't think he really meant so he does his best to shake it off and starts again, "So it just wasn't your day, you'll be alright. I'm sure there is going to be more fighting soon...there is always more fighting." Owain sighs lightly and rubs two calloused fingers along the bridge of his nose, "Yeah, but not when I'm right next to him." Yarne perks up a bit, remembering a casual conversation with Noire earlier in the day, "With whom?"

Owain begins to panic now, "With Robin. I just want him to see what Owain Dark can really do so he'll put me back into the field as much as possible. Can't risk my swordhand becoming famished and turning on friend and foe alike." Yarne smiles, sensing the increase in heart rate that accompanies a poorly told lie, "Yeah-huh." "And who asked for your opinion anyway, bunny? What are you implying about the hero of epoch?" Yarne's smile is wide now for all to see because in his brain things are falling into place. Owain redoubles his effort, "I don't know what you think is going on but you're definitely wrong!" Now he's pissed off and disappointed so before Yarne can speak he stomps off towards camp at double time to hide in his tent for the night. Not heroic, not boss. He needed to bury himself in his books where he is totally a master and all the stories of him are way awesome and everyone thinks so. Even if there not real, they're better than real right now.

Brady's stomach twists about like an eel out of water when he sees his father's wounds. Luckily Maribelle is always around him and can tend to them with the constant attention they need to keep from infection. It allows Brady to calm down a bit and to think of other things, like the battlefield earlier and how cool he must have looked to Owain when he brought down three guys right in front of him. That was a Brady Dark thing to do, he might even say a boss kind of thingy. He wished he could go back there and repeat the moment a couple times, maybe say something heroic like "Get behind me, young ward, I'ma save us." Owain would cling to his back as he swung his sword, eyes open, and rained blows down on the enemies. He lets those fantasies play out as they will while he heals, his mind wandering off to calloused hands holding each other on swords as they fight together, as one. As the night drags on his staff is running juice-less and he's pretty tired of people reluctantly coming to him for care when he knows they're on edge about his imposing nature. Usually he can just roll his eyes and do what needs doing but when Kjelle comes in with a sprained wrist and asks for Lissa's help because he's "frankly an eyesore," he throws his hands up in the air and shouts, "I don't need this. I'm blowin' this candy stand." So maybe that's the kind of stuff that puts people off, but it's not like he lost anything from doing it and it makes him feel momentarily a little better. The rest of the group is in the mess tent but he's not one for meeting up with them, in fact he just got invited to hang with Severa in her avoid everyone club but even that sounds like one too many people also. So to hell with it, he just headed back to his tent, there were things there for him anyway. Alone kind of things. It was pretty cool, he thought as he strung his door shut tight and laid back on his cot, to be the hero of the day. Spent the whole day fighting and then the evening healing and maybe it'll turn things around a bit for him, make him feel like he ain't such a slouch that can only heal and ain't good for much else. Maybe ma' would tell 'im that she ain't disappointed with him not being some pampered princey kind of kid. Even Severa might swing by and say she thinks he's pretty cool. More importantly than her, maybe Owain would stop calling him his sidekick or whatever and start thinkin' he's a serious part of that 'justice cable'.

Owain, that thin little loudmouth who would probably serve better to be a traveling actor in a troupe than the hero of epoch. Brady could imagine him right now in his room, probably embellishing on the truth a bit about the fight earlier. Three monsters probably were a thousand and Owain slayed them all with whatever that move was called, 'demonic power slam' or somethin'. He probably wrote that Brady wrestled four bears to the ground for dinner that night and they talked 'til dawn, or so the few stories Brady ever accidentally read from his already-opened journal had said. He could bet Owain was drawing pictures next to the most important parts of swords and magic. Brady slipped off his armor and laid down on his bedroll with a soft whimper, feeling the bruises from earlier begin to rise to the surface. The worst part of being a cleric if you asked him was that no staff he'd ever encountered allowed him to heal himself so his wounds had to be taken care of by another or left to slowly mend themselves over time. He would have liked to blow out the candles then, think more on what a hero he was and maybe get some well deserved sleep but Yarne had his own motives and when Brady heard a squeaky voice say, "Hey, Brady, you in there," he could have hurled a sword through his tent wall. "Waddya want? I'm tryna' sleep in here." Brady had to help Yarne in before he would be willing to talk though.

"So get to gabbin', I'm almost out of steam." Yarne smiled a bit, oh some mischief was goin' down now. He asked Brady about earlier and despite his irritation about recalling the events he described the battle curtly, maybe lingering on the part where he saved Owain a bit though. Yarne seemed quite pleased with himself and stood up with just a nod. "So that's it, a story and you're a ghost? What were you in here for then, spyin' on me?" Yarne just chuckled before pushing his way out the door, calling back over his shoulder softly, "I think Owain was lookin' for you."

Brady would have liked to retie his tent and not think about Owain again for the night, not that he had a problem with the subject material or that he hadn't studied it extensively on calmer nights when the air was cool and he was not, but if Owain was lookin' for him he probably had a reason. "Better be a damn good reason," he muttered to himself as he made his way out and a few yards over to Owain's tent. He slides open the flap of the tent briskly and calls over to Owain who was seated, slouched over his desk in thought, "Well, what're you draggin' me out here for in the middle of the night?" Silence returns to Brady in the wake of his words so he steps forward, naked feet padding over the scattered linens of Owain's strewn laundry, "Hey, don't be givin' me the silent treatment over what went down out there. I saved your rear end."

Owain's nervous system responds first, sending chemical signals to his brain and deep into his subconscious that's in full motion, recounting a fantastical version of what happened earlier with Pegasus knights covered in golden armor and swords make of licorice, telling him something is happening. As Brady's crass voice crashes upon the shores of Owain's ears his body continues urging him to wake up because something rough and abrasive is out there. Owain finally comes to the waking world mid rant but can't seem to understand what's happening. A glance over the table he had napped on told him he was writing in his journal what had happened earlier and fallen asleep mid hissy-fit. A turn of the head revealed Brady in his linens gesticulating wildly at him – the words began to gain meaning slowly, "...fer me, your sorry hide would'a been bird food." "What?" he says, the sleep stinging his eyes and causing them to water a little. "What're you doing in my tent?" he groans out.

Brady stops himself in confusion and notices the puffy red face of the man seated before him. Owain's cheeks take on a pale pink and his face seems a bit slack as if he had gone numb. Brady could smell sleep on his breath as it wafted by and checked himself a bit. Maybe Yarne was wrong? Owain's face had begun to take on a serious case of five o'clock shadow and Brady couldn't imagine a time he had been so close to Owain when he was like this, unprepared and not ready for the show that was his life. "What's wrong," Owain speaks tiredly, "what happened?" Brady finds the words caught in his throat, unready for this kind of intimacy. Sure, it really wasn't anything. Nothing had happened, or probably would happen – and in fact they'd only made it semi-official about a week ago out in the woods, but still this made Brady feel like he was out of his league. So much for that confidence he felt earlier in his room.

Owain rises to his feet, pushing the journal back against a stack of books so it would seem less conspicuous and wipes the sleep from his eyes, "Well, Sir Brady, Watcher of the Dreaming, why are you in here?" Brady's words come out in mumbles which seems strange to Owain considering he was just yelling before. "Cat got your tongue?" Owain steps forward and reaches a hand up to press his wild hair back into position thinking that although Brady caught him with his pants down, he could still press his momentary advantage and be the hero. "Really, you just came in here to stand there and wake me up?"

It's Brady's turn to have pink cheeks now, his words a jumble of excuses in his throat, "I was just checkin' on you is all. Yarne said you was lookin' for me so I came to find you. How was I supposed to know you was sleepin' like that?" The words were quiet as they came out, without any force behind them. It sounded much more like a confession than a well thought out argument, but his hands were tied here. Owain was puffy, warm and vulnerable, all things Brady had never associated with him. It was like meeting him backstage before he could get to makeup and rehearse his lines, it was maybe like meeting the real Owain and not Owain Dark. Here Brady was, so concerned about being Brady Dark and showing Owain he could be that kind of boss and he still couldn't keep up because now Owain was somewhere else being someone else. Someone with flaws like Brady had. Someone Brady Dark couldn't understand but Cry-Brady could. Owain's voice was a bit hoarse but sounded like a soft viola in the quiet of the tent, "Yarne was telling you stories, I guess. Probably just trying to get your goat."

Here they stood, hero of the day and sleepy, senseless coward and frankly it was reigniting that same spite that Owain had felt earlier only this time he didn't have the fire in his gut to turn it to anger, this time all he felt was exhaustion which turned it to shame. Owain buried his eyes down on the ground and stared at Brady's toes as they tapped nervously against the floor. "Yeah, so, you can probably get out of here then. I'm all good." "Why'd ya' disappear on me after the fight, I was worried?" Another stab of shame reaches its way up Owain's stomach and grabs onto his chest, making it a little hard to breathe for a moment. He glances up at Brady and finds him in a defensive stance, arms crossed over his wide chest and brow furrowed tightly. The V shaped collar on his shirt reveals an ugly purple bruise on his chest that Owain can probably manage the time to blame on himself some way. "How surprising that you're going to complain about being a hero also." Brady goes even more on the defensive, "What? I was just tryin' to make sure you were alright an I'ma whiner for it? That's just stupid."

Owain's face felt hot again, trapped in his own argument that he was honestly only defending for the sake of not admitting to himself that maybe he is mortal also and some days just aren't his. When it's out in the open like that it's a bit easier to rationalize, a bit easier to write off and not take straight to the ego. It's even a bit easier to be okay with your opposite, Brady or Nega-Owain, being the hero for the day. "Look, I'm just tired. Forget what I said, alright? I'm sorry."

Sorry was truthfully the last thing Brady expected right now and just like before, even though he was right, Owain managed to weasel his way back to the moral high ground. Finally Brady catches him in a corner only to find that Owain has moved again, somewhere else where he reigns supreme. It was a constant game of identity change, cat and mouse of personalities. Brady was okay at being the mouse, he'd spent so much of his life as it, but trying to be the cat made him feel like he was overstepping himself. "Yeah, I guess, if you're sorry." Lame response and Brady has to wipe his face with one hand just to hide the grimace he's making. Owain seizes the moment, "besides, you're the hero of the day. Can't be mad at you." Brady feels a swell of emotion now: pride in being a protector for his friends, annoyance that Owain would play such a dirty trick by being nice now and finally confusion because he doesn't know if he should still be mad at the kid or just let it go and walk out of here with a sigh letting it all manifest as a good, before-bed headache.

"I'm not giving you special credit, though. It's what you're supposed to do as part of the justice cabal, so don't let it go to your head." Owain gives a compliment and takes it right back, afraid of humiliating himself anymore in front of Brady. He's worked very hard constructing a persona he thinks will impress his friend and has worked even harder to maintain it. Today was quite a chink in the armor and if he's not careful he could get caught with his guard down and then Owain Dark would just be Owain. He watches Brady's face for clues and for a second he thinks Brady might get a little choked up which makes him smile with victory but Brady's no fool, he's got some skills he learned from Owain himself to level the playing field. "So, does a hero get – ya'know, like some kind of prize for saving his...pal from monsters, or somethin'?" It sounds even sort of confident for a Brady phrase but his body language still says he's on the defensive and the way he leans back and away from Owain tells him his heart may not be in it. That's okay. It's a weird subject, it's to be expected. Maybe it's even better that it's like this, all pent up emotions and baggage, Owain's tent in disorder and Owain himself feeling less Dark and more Owain. "yeah," he says and he leans in a bit towards a wary Brady.

They kiss, but it isn't very good and it's not for long. It's more like they press their lips into the same location at the same time, like it was happenstance or something. Brady knows Owain is just doing it because he feels so defiant and Brady himself questions if he asked for it for the same reason. Owain looks too real again, definitely boss though. That was a boss move and Brady's got nothing. Brady tries to pull it together, the taste of another mans sleep now lingering on his lips but all he can conjure up is a stout, "good. Thanks." Owain just nods, stepping back towards his table, "you can stay here if you want, I mean unless everyone is around then maybe you should go. Gotta' keep up appearances and all." Brady knows in his brain tonight isn't that night, but tonight was still something; something he'd think about later when he out-waits the looky-loos and the only two people awake are he and Owain, yards away from each other. He stores everything he sees here in his brain, but most important to keep memory of Owain like this. The Real Owain, not Owain Dark. Before he goes he thinks one more time about being Brady Dark, it'll probably never happen again - he'll leave the bravado to the pros like man-of-mystery Gerome. Brady Dark wasn't dead yet, though, and he would do something boss like sweep this kid into his arms and into the sunset. Owain turns away from him with a yawn and goes too his desk for a moment. Brady takes one more chance, closes the distance between them and hugs a rigid Owain to his chest, resting his chin along the back of Owain's head for a moment before stepping back to leave, "Brady Dark shall return, ya hear?"

Owain stands alone in his tent for a moment, embarrassed and flustered. He goes to finish chronicling today's events in his diary but the tingle of Brady's arms around him leaves his mouth dry and heart racing. Now wasn't the time for the past, now was the time for seizing the moment. He stands up and ties the tent flap shut.


	3. Bravery

The march through Valm had been going on for weeks and now that Walhart had formally introduced himself and was waiting for the Shepards arrival Robin decided it would be a good time to stop at a small village nearby to rest the troops and restock on food. It wasn't much a village but it worked in their favor, none of the larger towns would have taken in a Shepard, let alone Prince Chrom for fear of Walhart's wrath – but this wasn't going to be one of those kinds of stories - no, Owain intended tonight to be much livelier. He told all of his closest comrades to meet up at the center of town next to the inn when it got dark.

Owain could remember the dark times of his past and the coming future and sometimes it would leave his palms sweaty and his mouth dry. He would see Panne in the camp reading a book and think of when Yarne had come to him, beaten and bled, crying that his mother had been taken. Those kinds of memories were hard to erase. On sadder days he would think about Lissa's death and replay the day in his head from when he awoke to when the final blade brought her down. A lesser man, one without the discipline and fortitude that Owain had sharpened to a razor fine edge, would probably go insane or at least be traumatized and unable to speak; they would be like Gerome, all jerky and untrusting and dramatically serious with their jagged masks always hiding a look of contempt and that ridiculous hoarse voice he always pretends to talk with – a hand settles lightly onto Owain's back and he lurches forward to seize his sword for combat. "Ho there, fool. You almost received a smiting of the grandest measure for that dirty trick. Do not think you will catch Owain Dark off guard again, for he was simply meditating on larger things."

Inigo raises an eyebrow in speculation and gives a snarky chuckle, "When you speak like that it must sound different in your head than in everyone else's. It must sound good."

Owain Dark is not so easily taken in, especially not by a twig like Inigo, "Yours is not the first silver tongue I have drawn verbal blades with so if you truly wish to embark upon this path I will meet you head on, but be wise friend for there is much about you I will criticize!" Inigo is not taken aback even a bit, he simply rolls his eyes and ignores the declaration, "I'd be more afraid if Lissa had been yelling at me, to be honest. A-anyway I was just coming to find Kjelle, have you seen her anywhere? Perhaps with her beautiful friend Cynthia or the equally stunning Nah?" Owain takes his ever ready hand away from his sword and puts a finger to his chin, drawing out a breath in deep thought, "perhaps you should spend less time having Kjelle force feed you your own sword and more time seeking out the adventure of life."

"There is but one adventure I wish to take part in, Owain, and it is a one man expedition through the dark forest of a woman's favor. Have you ever considered speaking to a woman or dating one, maybe it would straighten out some your obvious attention issues."

Owain blushes a bit but not enough to draw Inigo's attention. "You could never understand the yearning of a true hero. Begone with you, philanderer. Delude thineself into believing you stand a chance so your constant rejection may continue to amuse me." Owain knows he's struck right at the jugular with that comment and Inigo leaves in a hurry when he sees Severa walking out of a tent with an armful of expensive baubles. Something creeps into Owain's mind then: tonight he'll be going out for the first time with everyone now that he and Brady are – well something – and he's not quite sure what he's supposed to do. Maybe he's supposed to ignore it entirely but he doesn't really want to. He opts for the Owain usual, 'figure it out as it goes'. He knows tonight will be a challenge but not all battles take place on a battlefield.

Night comes fast and Brady finds himself in the company of Severa, Yarne, and Morgan, not because he wants to be but because he was told to be. Robin had pulled him aside before they left and asked him to keep an eye on his sister, no doubt noting the attention she had been receiving from the hare as of late. Morgan could take care of herself but Brady wasn't one to defy his parents; what would ma' say if she found out Morgan had gotten herself a little bunny love and couldn't rely on her big brother? So now he just had to stand between Morgan and Yarne, fielding Yarne's constant compliments and his sister's very direct flirting. It hadn't helped the situation that Severa had also noticed and was making jokes at every turn about the endurance of rabbits and Yarne's supposedly inherited proclivities. Brady wasn't really sure what that last word meant but he assumed it meant something sexual by the way she said it, wagging her tongue like an idiot. Brady felt an indignant heat creep up his face when he thought of his society member poking fun at his sister. Yarne dropped behind the group and came up along side of Morgan, "Promise you won't pull on my ears all night again. I don't think I can handle the emotional trauma." Morgan's titter was almost a bit scary, "Oh please, you like it – why else would you have brought yourself closer to me." Brady watches as she pulls at a not-so-reluctant Yarne's long ears and he has to bully his way between them again, "Alright you two, whaddid I say about alla that grabassin' you was doin'? At least wait 'til I'm not around." Yarne had the grace to be a little embarrassed but not Morgan who was righteously aggravated with her brother's new-found brotherly love. "He's just jealous," she says to Yarne who responds back with a small smirk not meant for her, "I didn't think he could see us with all of this Dark that surrounds him." Brady catches the meaning and turns away with a huff, "You don't know nothin' about nothin'." Morgan' curiosity tries to pry its way in but no one will say a word.

Owain finds Noire already waiting with Gerome at the statue in the center of town. He gives them a wave and shouts over, making sure to be just loud enough to draw the interest of the folks around just in case they hadn't noticed him, "Ho there, fellow heroes. Owain Dark, Hero of the Ages has arrived. Do not bow before me for by your humbled expressions I know you are acquainted with my greatness." People stare, some give critical glances but any press is good press to Owain so he can't be more pleased with himself. Noire looks a little embarrassed but gives a small wave and Gerome spits onto the floor turning to look at the nearby inn. Noire asks him about the "thing" he had to do the another night and how it went, making sure not to clue Gerome in if it can be helped. Owain assures her it went according to plan even though he knows it was a lie. Noire only spoke a little saying that her new hair color was thanks to her mother's meddling but Owain was only partly listening. A third of his mind was focusing on her, another third focusing on what he would do if Risen were to attack right now and another third wondering what Brady would be doing right now, and if risen attacked, what he would do to look really cool in front of him. Tonight was supposed to be there free night to relax but it was also a little bit of a chance for Owain to regain his confidence in front of Cry-Brady. Last time they had a moment together wasn't his finest moment, failing to bring down even a single risen in combat. Not very heroic, not very Dark. Tonight was going to be so Dark. Tonight everyone would remember Owain as being the "it" guy, number one cool, super boss. When scholars found his sacred journal and read about today they'd think, "Wow, Owain took time out of saving the world from Grima's presence to keep up the morale of his fellow soldiers and win the hearts of his people. Owain even scores mega points with the lesser-hero Brady in a totally Owain way. Man, that's original Owain." He wonders for a moment how long it would take to get "that's so Owain" to be a thing at camp and tries to remind himself to use it casually. A sprinkle here and a sprinkle there and sooner or later...

Brady's sweating in his armor, the hair on his neck wanting to stand on end when he feels Severa's hand settle onto the small of his back as they walk. She doesn't give him a look, just lets her touch linger on the small ribbing between his back plate and the top of his waste plates. He doesn't know what to do when Yarne gives him a critical glance, the gears behind his eyes jamming up at this new, conflicting information. It helps Brady, it hurts Brady; it makes him want to run away from them all and curse and thrash because he doesn't know what these feelings really are. It was easy when they were kids and he could just write it all off as friendship, when it was unassuming and he didn't need the other side of true love. Now it was harder to classify, under a microscope hard to identify; now it was darker – Darker. This adoration demanded of him, made him feel things not just in his brain but in his body and the anxiety of not being able to let those feelings out was beginning to hurt. Severa may not have known that little touch was more than flirting but to him it was a vice grip, strangling his future and crushing his past. Tears burn behind his eyes, his usual poultice when overburdened, but he can't quite let them go when he sees the rest of the group in the distance waiting for them. He takes a small breath and chants inwardly, "I'ma brave guy, I'ma tough guy, I'm not gonna' cry, I'm tougher than this crap". It works like sandbags against flood, barely containing the deluge. It's a precarious strength to rely on.

As the group collects up and "hello's" are exchanged, Gerome walks slowly towards Lucina, bracing himself for a conversation but finds that Cynthia has already engaged her. He knows now isn't the time and stands awkwardly next to them until Cynthia finally eyes him, "Gerome, what's wrong? You're even creepier than usual tonight." He snaps his head towards her and cuts her down, "Everything you say is unnecessary." Lucina gives him a disappointed glance and turns back to Cynthia who looks completely devastated. Gerome feels the shame after the righteous indignation seeps away and only when Lucina tells him he needs to "calm down and think before he speaks," is he able to breathe again. Hey, if she's still talking to him then she doesn't hate him, right?

Owain exchanges a small look with Brady and it's like they enter into battle over who's going to make that first intimate greeting. It's Owain V.S. Brady, Round 1 - FIGHT! Who was going to acknowledge it first? Owain goes up down up down left left slide and launches a devastating shrug, showing he's got time to wait. Brady's back down back up punch kick "hey," proves he's not budging. Owain's not throwing in the towel yet, not when he's got a fully charged super move, "long time no see," with a smirk on the side. Brady's hit and his energy falls down fast, he's got to go on the defensive if he wants to play cool so he crosses his arms, "yeah." Eventually everyone around gets tired of watching them stare at nothing in particular and the time runs out as they're called to the inn. It's a draw and when the scoreboard shows the score is still 0-1, Brady's previous victory hanging over Owain's head, Owain is forced to wait until later. Stupid time limits, he muses as he follows the ex-cleric into the tavern. Severa walks up behind Brady and whispers something to him before placing her hand back where it was before. Brady's hunched over, arm-crossed physique goes perfectly taut but it's the hair on Owain's neck that's raised. Owain V.S. Severa Round 1 – FIGHT!

Owain isn't sure if it's his pride that gets sucker punched or his expectations for the night. Why isn't anyone fawning over the Hero of the story while his young ward, while deserving of some attention, is getting fawned over and pawed by masses of the gentler sex? Perhaps there is some kind of spell at work here, an ethereal mask which he cannot remove but hides his true majesty. Not even the barmaid really reacted to his soliloquy about the virtue of skipping alcohol in favor of staying sharp if prowlers come. His sword hand aches for justice when Severa sidles alongside a visibly agitated Brady and he has to hold it down by his side. Noire notices and comments from across the table, "Are you feeling alright, Owain? You look a bit peeked." Owain notices that no one is paying much attention so he replies honestly, "Just a little bit confused, but the Hero of Valm can not be dissuaded from having a good time."

Owain was wrong, Brady notices, because Brady has been watching in between Severa's increasingly more direct advances. He knows that Owain is pensive, can see it in his eyes that he is calculating. While Owain was always thinking, rehearsing his next part in some larger production, he was never hesitant at acting on it when the curtains rose. It was like staring at a different person almost, one that made Brady uncomfortable with himself. He had grown to accept the flamboyance of his messy-haired friend and even begun to rely on it but this new reluctance was worrying him. It was a cycle now: Owain would be pensive which would make Brady worried, Brady's emotions wore on his sleeve which would make Owain anxious for him and therefore more pensive. Positive feedback, accelerating into infinity. Eventually something had to give or they would both go crazy. Severa took a sip from Brady's cup and then another until he was forced to acknowledge her, "Yo, you got your own, quit takin' mine. I ain't made-a money, you know? Quit bein' a pest." Severa gave a confident laugh and took another sip. Brady didn't have time for games, Yarne and Morgan were givin' each other cutesy eyes and he was about to wreck that rabbit if he didn't stop tom-cattin' on his sister. Brady stands up to step away for the moment, afraid he'll say something he'll regret but Severa puts an arm on his and pulls him back down.

Owain watches her with a mix of emotions boiling in his gut. Envy, rage, discipline, humility, possessiveness mixed with humiliation, things he shouldn't have to acknowledge are gurgling their way into his throat like bile. When Brady comes to his chair with a yank and begins groaning at Severa, Owain finds himself there, somehow out of his seat and over to them in the blink of an eye, so fast Severa doesn't even finish her sentence. He puts a hand on Brady's shoulder and pulls him along, out of the main hall and into the hallway where they have a moment of quiet. He felt eyes sticking to him as he dragged a bewildered Brady away without so much as an explanation but he didn't owe anything to anyone, especially not Severa who couldn't catch a hint. "Do you want me to say something to her?"

Brady can feel the slightest bit of itching behind his eyes and he knows it's a mix of aggravation and excitement. He shakes his head and whispers, making sure no one is around, "Whatcha' gonna' tell her, that if she don't stop you're gonna' throttle her? I can take care-a myself." He feels a little guilty for being so brash and continues in shame, "Plus, I'm supposed to be keepin' Yarne off my sister, so I gotta' just deal with it while I babysit them. Tonights the pits."

Owain smiles, finally able to right himself again when they're next to each other and away from the loud conversations and music. "Worry not, He who guards the lady's virtue, for I will protect your sibling from Yarne's groping hands and you from the onslaught of Severa, the beast with 100 arms." Brady hunches over with his back to the wall, "She's only got two it just feels like she's all over me because she won't get gone." Owain steps closer and Brady glances up from the floor to meet him. He can see the scar on Brady's face twist with his aggravation but it isn't off-putting, it's actually kind of exciting. His hair goes on end like Brady's was when he thinks about how "scary" it is. It's really a hero thing, that Owain should be the one to see past that abrasive side to the man behind it. There is more there then just that scar, there are memories. Memories of when Maribelle passed away when Brady was just a child, memories of Lissa holding Brady, looking brave on the outside but crying on the inside. Times when Brady and he would run from sunrise to sunset so they could get stronger, vowing to protect Lissa and Gaius in a way they couldn't have protected Maribelle. That same pain and determination was inscribed in every worry line on Brady's young face and Owain could not replace his hurt with courage but he could stand by him. Maybe that was the catalyst for his feelings now, or maybe it was the heroic challenge, or one million other things. Brady gives him a curt, "What?" impatient with the way Owain is staring at him without speaking. "Nothing. Just thinking about what things were like before we came here. You've changed a lot."

Brady can remember those times too and he does his best to block them out. He doesn't want to remember being weak, failing his mother and the tragedy of his father. He has done his best to block those memories out, to assume they're actually dreams now that he's in the past and changing all of that. Has he really changed? He doesn't feel like that, but Owain's eyes tell him he has. "I'm still the same guy, just a little braver than I was back then. Stop givin' me that look, it's makin' me feel all squirrely."

Owain leans in to seize the moment. Backing Brady into a corner was just the set-up, now was the time for action. They share a small kiss, reluctant from Brady's side where his mind is still thinking about the past. Sword hand won't stay still and he is forced to yield to its curiosity, probing along the breaks in the armor for the weave of dense fabric which hid pale skin beneath. Owain hadn't gotten this far yet but he was ready now; then something in the back of his mind rationally reminds him that eventually they would come looking and this isn't how he wanted to be found. He pulls away and Brady interjects with a whine, "Why ya' always pullin' this kind of stuff on me and then leavin' me high and dry? You're drivin' me nuts, man." Owain gives him a serious look and swordhand settles over his eye, "They will come searching for us soon, we must save this for later. Do not worry, sidekick. Your knight is not leaving your side."

Heat sits under Brady's skin and his body aches. He's scared and excited again, those emotions from before mixing with these new ones and he doesn't know how to settle them. In his stomach a war begins and threatens to consume him if he doesn't settle down soon. He sees Owain's reddened face and reaches for it with one large hand but finds only air when Owain shakes his head and pulls him back out towards their party. It isn't where he wants to be, and in fact he feels more angry now then anything. He wants to go back to camp, settle his mind by seeing that Maribelle and Robin are still there then hide in Owain's tent and settle his body by moving forward with his feelings. He's scared, and his mind tells him he really probably wouldn't make the first move but he knows he might have to if Owain keeps doing this back and forth thing. It's like him to be like that, to change his mind and play it aggressively cool. If there was an audience he knew they would think Owain was cool right now. It leaves Brady eager for more and he knows Owain designed it to be like that which makes him honestly a bit excited just to be part of the production.

Gerome and Lucina are gone from table, talking outside in front of the Inn, or whatever you call an interaction with the silent Gerome to be. Owain sees how Severa reacts when Brady doesn't sit down next to her again and he smiles at her sneer. He wants to gloat, to say he gets to see that other side of Brady she doesn't but he wouldn't. Morgan and Yarne have separated and now she's speaking with Inigo and Kjelle as they sip something dark from a large stein but it doesn't mean Yarne isn't watching. Wherever Cynthia had snuck off to was a mystery and Noire is just sitting alone, drawing lightly on the scratched wooden table with her finger. Owain speaks up to get her attention but feels a hand settle on his thigh under the table top and the words sit dead in his throat. He turns his head covertly and finds Brady watching from the corner of his eye but staring at his sister. His hand pats lightly along his knee and slides slowly toward his hip, warming his pants and the skin below to an unbearable temperature hotter than the desert. To an undiscerning eye Brady looks miserable at that table, hunched over with his hands in his lap but Owain knows he's smiling in his own scarred way. It's "scary" but it's Brady. It requires no courage to do this hidden thing but he knows it's asking a lot of his friend. As that hand settles on his hip bone and drifts underneath the buckles and waistband of his belt to tease along the top of his small clothes Owain knows that Brady has changed, has grown stronger. He envies that and almost begins to see the score as 0-2 but when Severa glances over and gives them a scrutinizing look he can't help but smile and take a little pride in knowing he's helped stoke that courage. He's changed also, become a little more humble in Brady's presence. It's only fair though, that he should learn and grow. Brady is a hero also, a cry-baby of a hero but a hero none the less, and he can learn from a hero.

He knows Brady won't go too far, won't drift inside and feel anything worth the effort but that's alright because Owain Dark makes the moves, not – and then Brady does. It's just a casual touch that ends quickly but Owain sweats anyway and when he glances a bit too obviously over at Brady he sees him smirking and knows that he isn't so afraid anymore. His body tightens, nerve endings sparking all over his body. Like a network of lit firecrackers, his senses begin to fire all at once and it's like every place along his skin rises to the surface and gasps for air at once. From his pelvis to his spine to his brain and back, everything is bright and feels sharp.

A small snicker rings through the air and the boys glance over at Yarne who's watching them from his chair. He smiles, raising his eyebrows twice at their touching and Brady instantly retracts his hand and barks out, "You still don't know nothin'." Yarne opens his mouth to speak but Brady roars again, "Shuddap!" before standing up and stomping out of the inn. Owain smiles over at Yarne. He knows he'll go calm down Brady in a second and he'll have to deal with that jerk Gerome listening in like he always does...but right now he just wants to gloat a bit. Severa catches eyes with him again and he can tell she's thinking something – what it is he can't say but it doesn't matter. He just smiles at her and runs his sword hand through his hair. Not all battles are won on the battlefield.


	4. Going Dark

"Can you remember all the way back to when you guys came to stay at the castle? After Robin disappeared and Maribelle came to seek comfort with my mom? That was the day we came up with the title "Dark". Frederick had taken us outside of the castle to the courtyard so we wouldn't have to hear about Chrom's illness or watch your mom cry. I remember you were trying to get Frederick to talk about his armor and he kept telling you that when you were older and stronger it wouldn't seem that heavy anymore but you were completely amazed by him. I'll be honest, I was a little jealous."

Brady's tent was quiet. Not so different from the somber camp outside.

"Anyway, I was trying to get you to come fight a very serious imaginary pirate lord who had pinned me down but you wouldn't come. I screamed and I begged but you didn't want to leave Frederick's side and I pretended to die but all you did was glance at me and shake your head. Not so different then what we do now, huh? Who would have known the Almighty Avenger of Justice and his young ward would come from such meek beginnings? When I did pry you away from Frederick all you wanted to do was talk about your dad; man you were a loud mouth before you left. Eh, do you remember any of this?"

Brady still didn't respond. Owain rubbed one hand across his back and soldiered on. "You were wearing my favorite shirt, that one with the fur lining on the neck and the red stripe that looked exceptionally heroic when we did somersaults. That probably made me even more mad than you ignoring me. When Frederick got up to get us lunch I remember I just wanted you to feel bad or maybe be amazed by me like you had by Frederick. I know, but I was what? 5, maybe 6? If even that? You can't blame little Owain for not being the cultured, paragon of a man I am now. Those were my more rough-and-tumble years." Owain felt his brow turn in, "It's going to be okay, this is what happens in war. We should be thankful it was only her." Brady's bear back was cool to the touch. "I remember how I took off running. I didn't even tell you where I was going, which in retrospect was stupid because you had wanted to go to the kitchen with Frederick and may not have even noticed I was running away. When I got to the other side of the courtyard, which seemed so far away because it felt like I was running faster than our stallions, I looked for you and you were playing by the fountain alone. It's alright, I knew you needed a little help understanding what we were doing so I shouted over at you to get your attention, something like "I hope Brady comes looking for me before I get lost." Something like that. It took a while but eventually after I hinted loud enough you relented and came over towards me."

Brady still hadn't moved and probably wouldn't want to. He was hurting too deeply. Owain's tone fell a bit softer when the sobbing began to slow. "We were playing mages. I was the fire one and you were the wind one and we pretended the servants who were crossing by us under the arches were enemies. Ha, do you remember when Sharif set down her basket and pretended you had blown her away? You laughed the hardest I think I ever saw you laugh. Then Frederick came to get us for lunch and scolded us for going so far away from where he told us to stay. Man that guy was a stick in the mud from day one, right? Brady, I know it hurts but hurting for him won't make it any easier." Owain's appeal fell on deaf ears. Brady buried his face deeper into his knees and held his body tight together like a fist, afraid of spilling open and vulnerable. "All you did during lunch was ask what had happened to Chrom and I can still see Frederick's face when he told you he had the flu so that's why we couldn't go and see him. I also remember Lucina passing by above us and yelling out one of the windows that she wouldn't come down, not until he was better. Those were strange times, but not bad ones. I scarfed down that sandwich and pretty much dragged you from yours because you always ate like a bird and I never had the patience for it. We went back to playing mages and you said that you didn't want me to always be fire because I would make up all of those cool spells and you could only blow people around so we switched you to thunder. Your lips went red from all of the 'bzzt' noises you were making. Seriously, when someone uses a thunder spell I recall that moment and it always makes me think of you."

Brady felt like he was lost. Crying seemed so selfish and yet he couldn't make it stop. His pants were soaked around the knees and paired with the chill of the night made him shiver between whimpers. He should know better by now. It is a war, you can't deny its very nature. It didn't make it easier to acknowledge that fact.

"Then Maribelle came and drug you away and I sat outside with Frederick for a while. I was worried you guys were leaving but Frederick wouldn't let me go back inside to find you. I knew something was going on but you remember Frederick back then – there was no sneaking around him. Finally you came back with one of the servants and you had been crying. You told me Maribelle had said she wanted you to join the clergy because it was safer than being at the castle. I never told you but I was scared by that. I mean, the castle was supposed to be the safest place in Ylisse. I also was scared I might never see you again. I remember you wiped your eyes on my sleeve and you told me that you wished Robin was here so you wouldn't have to leave and you guys could stay here at the castle and play. Honestly I couldn't believe you really wanted to stay here, you were older than I was, a little shorter but older and not as interested in games as myself. I remember we went back to playing mages then and you said you were going to be a light magic user so I picked dark magic. It was hard to make up a story line where the hero used dark magic but we made it work. Come to think of it that whole dark magic curse thing we played with might have been the progenitor of my cursed blood and sword hand that haunts me to this day." Owain fell pensive for a few moments listening to call of insects outside of the tent. "I guess I never really stopped playing. You went off to the clergy and left me back at the castle. You grew up and I, well I guess I just waited."

Brady turned his head then and looked up at Owain who was smiling a bit sadly at him. He knew Gerome was somewhere alone, away from all his concerned allies, mourning his mother who fell in battle only hours ago. He felt Gerome's pain for him and felt that same pain from when Maribelle had passed; it hurt like it had so many years ago but now he wasn't running for his life. The difference was that now he had time to mourn her death, vicariously through Cherche's. Owain had been there for Maribelle's and he was here now for Cherche's and he needed that support. Brady wished he could get himself up to find Gerome but he knew crying all over his quiet friend wouldn't help him, he would leave him to work out his frustrations alone. Baby Gerome was somewhere safe and that is what mattered now. He reached out for Owain, balling his fist in his collar and pulling himself to his knees in front of him. The cool air bringing goosebumps along his skin was centering but Owain's warmth was more-so.

Owain held his friend as he clung to his chest awkwardly. He had done this so long ago it seemed strange to be reliving the moment. Tonight was a reminder. For all of the time he spent in that special place where he was the Avenging Avenger the war outside was still real, affecting lives all around him regardless of what he did. Tonight showed him that he could still play those old games and be Owain Dark but reality had no use for such gilded moments. He was too afraid to give up that old crutch called imagination, too strong to see why it should be dissipated in favor of cynicism. Tonight made him miss the old, talkative, inquisitive Brady. Now he was older, taller, and quieter – another thing time had taken without Owain's consent. His fingers patted the knots in Brady's back, wound tight from stress and fatigue. "I still want to be Owain the dark mage if you'll be Brady the light mage."

Brady nodded into his chest, crying lightly. He wished Frederick was here right now so he could ask how he could shoulder the weight when Chrom was dying and the kingdom was falling down around them; then again, he knew what Frederick would say, "When you get older and stronger it won't seem that heavy anymore."


End file.
